


Anything's A Weapon If You Throw It Right

by DontOffendTheBees



Series: Kurlish Week (AKA Murder Bro Mania) [3]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Accidental Death, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Killing, Murder, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: "Oh. Yeah, whatever," she tipped the remains of the bag into her mouth, greedily gulping down the last crumbs. She licked her lips, smacked the empty bag down on the bar and demanded, flatly: "More.""You know you've eaten, like, eight packets, right?"Kurlish Week Day 3: 'Food'





	Anything's A Weapon If You Throw It Right

**Author's Note:**

> Yo yo yiggity yo!
> 
> A bit of silly stuff for you today! With some murder. Don't worry, no one you know.
> 
> Want to see this work along with all the other awesome stuff people are contributing? Thinking about contributing yourself? Check out [Kurlish Week on tumblr!](https://kurlishweek.tumblr.com/info)

"I can't believe it," said Ken, shaking his head. He couldn't scrub the look of disbelief off of his face and honestly, he wasn't trying very hard. "How have you _never_ had these before?"

"Told you, food comes to me when I'm s'posed to eat it," said Bart, spitting flecks of honey-roasted cashew over his face. "I ain't never sat in a place like this before."

"Okay, yeah, I kinda figured," Ken laughed, wiping his face and picking up her glass. Completely empty. Two beers in, and Bart was stuffing her face and cackling like a kid on Halloween with a treat haul and a dollar store witch costume. Clearly she didn't frequent bars all that much. "'Kay, I think you've had enough."

Bart's eyes went wide like she'd just had her treat bag snatched away right before them. "Wha'? No!" She cuddled her bag of nuts to her chest protectively.

"I meant the beer. You've had enough beer."

"Oh. Yeah, whatever," she tipped the remains of the bag into her mouth, greedily gulping down the last crumbs. She licked her lips, smacked the empty bag down on the bar and demanded, flatly: "More."

"You know you've eaten, like, eight packets, right?"

_"More!"_

"Bart-"

"Eurgh, okay, I'll get 'em myself," she said, levelling him with a meaningful look- which, to her credit, was only a little bit foggy. "Shame you've got all the money. Guess I'll just have to kill the bartender. 'Kay, here I go-"

Ken rolled his eyes, and dug out his wallet. "You know, that murder card is gonna get real old _real_ fast if you play it all the time."

Bart didn't care. She just grinned and laugh-snorted and slapped her hands on the table in childlike glee. It was stupidly adorable. And kinda gross, ‘cause her mouth and teeth were still kinda clogged with cashew dust. But he'd seen them clogged with much, _much_ worse, so he was still erring on the side of adorable.

"Okay, Bart, you win," he said, signalling the bartender. "But this is the _last_ one!"

 

* * *

 

It was _not_ the last one.

In fact, Ken had to buy her three more packets for the road just to convince her to leave- and even then he had to pick her up and physically remove her from the bar. After giving her another bag to distract her from killing him, of course.

"Try not to eat these all at once, okay?" he said, tucking the packets one by one into his backpack. "Or you'll be mad about it tomorrow."

"That's okay - we'll just get more," she said, cheerfully munching down her distraction packet.

Ken was saved from wondering if it was possible that Bart might spend all fourteen thousand of their remaining dollars on nuts by a gruff voice chiming in: "Hey, lovebirds."

They both paused, Ken's hand freezing on its third and final journey to his bag. He didn't know how he was only just realising that Bart had led them down a different route to their hotel, and that route just so happened to take them down one of the darkest, narrowest, straight-up Jack the Ripper-style alleys Ken had ever seen.

Or how he was only just realising they weren't alone down here.

"Uh," he said, taking a wary half-step backwards from the looming guy, face half cast in shadow by his hood. "Yes?"

The guy's lightly stubbled jaw clenched, his hand whipped out. In the thin light of a distant streetlamp, metal gleamed menacingly. "Toss that bag over here. Hers, too."

The human brain works in strange ways when gripped by a sudden onset panic. Sometimes you get lucky and the adrenaline and imminent pressure makes you a quick-thinker and a silver-tongued grifter, capable in that moment of crafting a finely-wrought tap dance of evasion. Sometimes it makes you run, keeps you fast, gets you out of that deadly situation as quick and safe as possible. At the very least, you'd hope it would leave you with the bare amount of critical reasoning necessary to realise that an attacker in a dark alley, upon seeing that you're carrying a backpack, is making the vaguely sexist assumption that your apparently female friend is carrying some sort of bag too and is asking you both to fork them over in return for you keeping all of your fingers.

Unfortunately, not one of those things happened to Ken who, in his panic-ridden state, heard the words 'bag' and 'hers' and immediately fixated on the only one he knew both he and Bart were actually holding.

Which was how he ended up, with terrified intensity, lobbing a packet of honey-roasted cashews at their attacker.

It rebounded harmlessly off the guy's chest, dropping to the ground with an underwhelming crumple. The guy's face, insofar as he could see it in the shadows, looked startled and wrong-footed, mouth falling open.

Three things happened in very quick succession.

First Bart, having stared at Ken in tipsy bemusement for a good long moment, shrugged and tossed her bag, too.

The bag, already open and half empty, cartwheeled through the air, colliding with a much hollower sound against the muggers' hooded forehead, scattering nuts every which way in its wake.

And then one of those nuts, shaken loose by the collision, tumbled down right as the muggers' head jerked backwards in surprise, and dropped directly into his upturned mouth.

"Uh," Ken mumbled, eyes riveted to the mugger as he began, loudly, to choke. "Did you- mean to do that?"

Bart frowned, watching the man sink to his knees with fuzzy disinterest. "Eh. Just looked like fun when you did it."

"Right... Should we-?"

"Nah," she said, shrugging. "Think he was my target."

"Oh. Okay."

They stood by awkwardly as the man, with a variety of off-putting throat noises and a face that was turning bluer by the second, collapsed entirely and trailed, with a last wheezing gasp, into dead silence. His knife clattered to the ground, coming to rest beside the empty snack pack before it caught a breeze and fluttered away, probably to go foil another mugging attempt across town.

Bart watched it go mournfully. "My cashews..."

Ken stared at her. "Really? _That's_ your take-away from this?"

She looked down at the body, presumably to glare at it for having the audacity to make her waste her nuts. Her anger morphed into pleasant surprise as she _ahhhhed_ and scooped up Ken's packet, still sealed and un-spilled, and tore into it eagerly. She happily munched down a mouthful, before smiling at Ken and jerking her head. "C'mon. Let’s blow this joint.”

And with another happy crunch, she stepped casually over the body and got walking, calling over her shoulder: “And we’re buyin’ more o’ these tomorrow! Can’t believe guy wasted half an entire packet, what a chump.”

Ken, mostly recovered from his shock, rolled his eyes and followed her lead.

Yeah. She was _definitely_ gonna spend all fourteen thousand of their remaining dollars on nuts.

Shame the universe didn’t technically pay her for this job. She could’ve marked them down as a business expense.


End file.
